True Beauty by Moonlight
by Masqueraders
Summary: EC OneshotFluffy. A dream outside her window. That's all it is. Nothing more. ...Or is it? LerouxALW. Cliche ending. Ye be warned.


**Author's Note: This was written for a phic contest, and won third place (well, out of five entries). I'm still happy with it, even if it wasn't proofread, and still hasn't been. xD I hope you all like it, and I would love it if you'd review! **

**Oh, and to fans of Awaiting Fate – I'll most likely be rewriting it, since it wasn't exactly going anywhere, so look for a new version sometime soon. :) **

It wasn't true. No, it couldn't have been true; he couldn't have been real, the man that clung carelessly to the frosted oak outside of Christine's bedroom. She blinked once, twice, three times again, and, yet, this man would not disappear. He was simply crouching on a thick snow-coated branch, staring back into her eyes with his own slits of pupils, glowing and burning with lust as a cat's.

But it was. Her own fantasy, desire…_soul_ was just within her reach. She could have easily lifted the limp hand at her side to touch the black night of his Persian silk dress-suit…Brought him closer to her…Touched the dry, caked lips with her fingertips…Caress them with hers…

As much as she wanted to do what her imagination began to create, Christine knew that she couldn't.

Yet, what drew her to walk closer to the figure of a man as his gloved hand of death began to signal to move forward?

Now she was dangerously close, oh, how close!- to tumbling over the edge of the three story villa. Each individual lock of golden hair lay now over the front of her bosom, modestly covered by a sheer dressing robe of white. She outstretched her graceful swan-like neck towards the shadow, gripping tightly to the windowsill, though she was losing control of herself quickly as her sea-blue eyes fell closed. A hand cloaked in dark leather reached out slowly and extended a single, thin, musician's finger hesitantly. Christine merely stayed frozen in her position. It was positive she would go mad if this man did not touch her even with the slightest of strokes.

"Christine? Christine, darling? Are you finding your room to your liking?"

Startled, the young woman lost her balance, beginning to fall to certain death. However, the dark figure caught her in midair before she became out of reach and held her closely to him, pressed against his chest, where she buried her face in the scent of death, shaking and sobbing pitifully.

Raoul de Chagny stood on the other side of his fiancé's bedroom door, ear put up against the wood. He could hear nothing; all was silent in the room. Smiling softly, he tiptoed away and down the hall to his room, figuring that she must have fallen asleep.

Christine still lay cradled in her savior's arms, clutching the front pocket of his suit tightly, trying to prevent another accident. His hold on her became more firm and she peered up at him through a blur of tears, attempting to smile a 'thank you', but instead, her face cracked and she settled for mouthing the words, for this was not a moment of talking: she saw it in his eyes.

They had gone so quickly from an emotion of alert and protectiveness to lust and passion. She realized why, now.

This was a particularly suggestive position. She lay directly over his crossed legs, her breast heaving with deep breaths of relief, and her hair wild and tangled around her face. The slit in the skirt of her dressing robe was separated, revealing most of her bare, smooth porcelain legs. Embarrassed intensely, Christine began to sit up and rearrange her skirt, but was halted by the man's hand placed firmly on her abdomen. Breathing harder than before, she flushed and returned to her resting place on his tight legs.

His hand still pushing down on her stomach, the other one unveiled itself from his cloak and found the bush of curls strewn across his knee. He stroked them shyly, never taking his eyes from Christine's. Not making any protest, she was tense, but let her eyes flutter at the slight contact.

"Christine…" he croaked.

She couldn't say anything. No, this wasn't the time to say something. But she had to.

"…Erik…Please…" It was a plea. Her Angel deserved it, he _needed_ it after all these years.

Without another word, his masked face began its descent to hers, but ever-so-slowly, as if he was making sure that it was alright with his love.

Christine made no noise, she just waited there, and…Was that…No, it couldn't have been…Eagerness he saw glinting in her eyes under the moon's silver slivers of light?

So close…She could feel the hot breath washing over her face as his approached…

Then her bedroom door creaked open.

Instinctively, Erik's head shot up and he whipped his cloak around the both of them, shielding Christine's white clothing from exposure.

It was no one but a maid, simply come to change out the towels in her mistress' private bathroom. She was in and out within a short amount of time, careful to be quiet for the lump of linens under the bedcover that was not Christine.

After a minute of silence, Erik gradually unraveled the cloth. Christine let out a long breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding. Their eyes eventually found one another's.

"…I cannot stay, my love. It is far too risky." Erik stated. Disappointed, the woman shifted her gaze from him and sat up again, this time, without any foreign hands. She did not let him see a single, glistening tear slide down one cheek and freeze mid-travel. Her head turned slightly to look over her shoulder regretfully.

"I'm…I'm sorry to hear that. I will leave you now, then, with the thought that I will always…Good-bye, Angel…" Gently, she began to scoot herself towards the edge of the branch, sticking out a dainty foot to fasten securely to the windowsill where the velvet curtains now billowed freely. Not expecting any help, Christine tried to find her balance and would have succeeded if a cold object had not laid itself on top of her own tiny fist.

"But…If you would like…There is something I wish to show you…I meant to take you long ago…Though, I'm sure you'd like it much better during this white winter…"

It was an interesting sight. Both of them, full fledged adults, acting like bashful schoolchildren as Christine nodded her head sheepishly.

"…Y-yes. I'd…thank you…but, I'm not dressed to…" She was stumbling over her words and still Erik found her undoubtedly beautiful.

Slyly groping around behind him, he caught hold of a package and presented it to her.

She seemed confused, but made no objections as she unwrapped it carefully. The piece of clothing inside took her breath away.

"Oh…Erik…" Hesitantly, she lifted the flowing holly-red gown to her chest, only to see that there was a pure white-mink wrap as well. She was sincerely touched. Not even Raoul had given her something as extravagant as this!

While she was distracted with the outfit, he reached out and took her by the underarms gently, brought her figure to his side and glanced at her bowed head out of the corner of his eye.

Was that a blush he saw as his hand accidentally brushed dangerously close to her chest when his arm wrapped round her waist?

Stealthily, he carried them both down to the base of the oak safely, where a magnificent white beast of a stallion stood, pawing at the snowy earth beneath him. It was a horse Christine knew all too well.

Stepping forward, Erik took control of Cesar by snatching the reins. He grunted and grudgingly stopped jolting. His captor, still keeping hold, faced Christine and offered her a gloved hand. She took a step backwards, fixing her eyes on the black cover. At first, Erik didn't understand why she had become less willing, then he remembered and reluctantly slipped off his shield.

And, with a small smile, Christine took his invitation into the unknown.

- - -

"Erik…What?...Where are we!..."

Arms flailing about wildly, all was dark as Christine struggled to remove a thick blindfold from her vision. Erik resisted the urge to laugh and continued to steer the impatient steed, navigating through a soft snowfall through fields of pure white.

- - -

"Do you trust me?"

Opening to her aching eyes to nothing but black, Christine mumbled incoherently.

"I…What-?"

"I said…do you trust me?"

Erik's voice was gentle. Yet, she could sense that he was more serious than she had ever known. She hesitantly turned her head to the right, barely feeling the tickle of his breath upon her forehead. Swallowing a lump in her throat was all she could manage before feebly replying an answer so delicate that even Erik's cat-like hearing had to strain.

"…Yes. I-…I trust you."

Both of their mouths became dry as his cold, bare hands slipped off the fabric from around her head. Squinting from the reflection of the moonlight on the winter blanket, Christine took a moment to adjust to her surroundings…and gazed at something so beautiful it took her breath away as his lips crashed upon hers with a kiss that both had waited all too long for.

And what did she lay eyes on?

Erik.

_Without_ the mask.


End file.
